


[wet] part 1

by realjane



Series: [wet] [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Co-workers, Draco's Den's Roll-A-Drabble, F/M, Facebook: Draco's Den, Pining Draco Malfoy, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: For once in her life, Hermione takes an idiotic risk, and Draco Malfoy goes after her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: [wet] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713055
Comments: 43
Kudos: 163
Collections: Draco's Drabbles





	[wet] part 1

When she ran off with the scroll, she hadn’t imagined it winding up like this.

She should’ve hidden in the supply closet and waited for him to leave before she nicked the scroll off his desk, but she had panicked. He had a scroll in his possession that she wanted and how likely would he have been to give her a look? Not bloody likely. When he found out she had taken it… oh, he would be purple with anger. She shivered. Whatever. Let him be mad. It’s not like he had been forthcoming with his discoveries; he should have been collaborating with her department for Merlin’s sake! So she had a right to it… sort of.

In her haste to liberate the scroll, Hermione had torn a great big rift through the paper. Well, three tears. She had escaped with the largest chunk of runes and map, but she had no idea where to go from this exact location: the precipice of a rock face, beneath a series of catacombs, beneath Gwynedd, Wales. The partial map was currently tucked inside her coat pocket, taunting her.

The ground continued crumbling beneath her toes. She pressed her back to the wall and breathed out slowly. The face of the rock was smooth and damp; Hermione’s hair clung to her face and neck from a mixture of sweat and humidity. It hadn’t been an arduous climb through the tunnels, just long. Leave it to ancient Celts to build a tunnel system perilous only in its tedium. Until this point, anyway, when the walkway fell off into a sharp drop. In an attempt to figure out passage across the void, Hermione had leaned too far. She had slipped off the edge and caught herself on a small ledge, too far down the cliff to climb back up and too close to the top to safely fall the rest of the way. The noiseless cavern gave little in the way of comfort for her predicament. Every tiny rock that gave way under her sneaker made a pointed splash! into the water far below.

“What am I doing?” she screamed. Her frustration mocked her in rolling echoes. She closed her eyes. She had nothing. She had no rope. No pack. In her haste to leave for Wales, she hadn’t packed any gear (she was lucky she had left her flat wearing trainers and a light jacket). If she was being truthful, her barebones preparedness was part of the thrill. She lost her wand to the water below, having slipped out of her hand as she tried to stay upright. All she had left was an ancient gaelic scroll in her pocket, torn by her own desperation. And for what?

Was this enough thrill for her?

This was not like her. Lately, she had been itching, itching, for something more: more than a corner cubicle in the Department of Hexes, Curses, and Charms, more than going home to her old cat, more than an occasional date with her neighbor, a muggle teacher called Gerald. Excitement--risk! Feeling something, ANYTHING, but rolling disappointment from her peers that she hadn’t turned out to be exceptional.

She could imagine her gravestone now:

_Hermione Jean Granger. 33. Death by Stupidity. Rest in Mortification._

If they ever found her body. More rock fell away beneath her feet and she clung to the wall by her heels and a prayer.

“Granger?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. It was a faint call, but she had heard her name from a distant tunnel. She didn’t care who was calling her--someone had come after her! She might survive to be sacked from the Ministry and publicly shamed.

“I’m here!” She called. “I’m here! Help!”

“Granger?” the voice called again, this time closer. “Hermione Granger, are you there?”

“I’m going to fall! Help!” Hermione’s throat was raw from calling out. She shrieked in shock as the little ledge finally gave way. She plunged towards freezing dark water. Before she hit, someone shouted in panic from above. Everything went black.

***

“Granger, you bloody idiot!”

She came to, coughed up a lung’s worth of water, and rolled on her side, heaving against solid, dry rock. Draco Malfoy’s face was level with hers as she regained sense, but as soon as she tried to sit up, he stood. He was… angry, but she had expected that. And he was here? What was he doing here? In muggle clothing, no less. Wet muggle clothing. Very… wet. Hermione swallowed hard. How had she never realized how fit he was? Oh, right. You have to spend time with a person to notice things about them.

“What in Merlin’s bloody name is wrong with you? You stupid witch!” He shook out of his long coat, which was water-logged. His white shirt clung to his torso beneath it and he rucked it out of his waistband, unbuttoning as quickly as his shaking hands would allow. Hermione said nothing, just rolled onto her back and pressed her eyes shut. _In this circle of hell, I will be tortured by a stripping Draco Malfoy,_ she thought.

“Do you have a death wish?” he seethed. “Were you trying to end your life so nobody would ever find your body? Have you been an absolute moron all along, and pretended to be the Brightest Witch of Your Age? Because I can think of a lot of things that are mental--” his shirt slapped against stone as he threw it. “--but none as foolish as setting out by yourself with no provisions, no partner, and an incomplete scroll. Which, by the way, disintegrated the moment you hit the water. So, thank you for that! Priceless bloody artifact. Gone.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course he was right, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling him so. But as long as he was shirtless, she also didn’t want to look at him. Call it… self-preservation. He stalked over to her and leaned so his face was close to hers. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

She peeked up at him. What was there even to say? _You’re right. I’m a miserable bint with a death wish. Nothing has been right in a long time. I did it to feel a thrill again, consequences be damned. You’re more muscular than I expected._ “Did you give me mouth-to-mouth?” she peeped finally.

His eyes narrowed. “It was that or watch you drown, so.” Malfoy eased up on the waves of hatred he was giving off and settled on a rock a few feet away, putting his head in his hands. She allowed herself to glance at him while his face was hidden. He was properly grown up. His hair, while wet, was a bit darker, and… when had he grown facial hair? Merlin’s ghost… it suited him. It softened his jaw. 

“I’m a fine swimmer, thank you very much.”

“Apparently not when you’ve fallen fifty feet into icy water. You sunk faster than a brick.”

“How did you even find me?”

He snorted. “Lucky for you, I copied the bloody scroll before you stole it off my desk. Thank goodness you dropped your hair thing so I knew it was you.”

“What hair thing?” she sat up on her elbows.

“Velvet fabric thing. The burgundy one you wear constantly.”

“My scrunchie? I don’t wear it all the time--”

He dug in his trouser pocket and flung the offending fabric circle in her direction. “Only when you’re working in budget meetings or eating in the caf, then. Which is when I see you. So all the bloody time, to me.”

“Ugh!” She caught the scrunchie before it could smack her in the face. It was damp, but so was her hair, which was liable to become an explosive poof soon if she didn’t contain it. She twisted her hair up and secured it with the scrunchie--with an added tongue out to spite him. “Help me dry off, while you?”

“Where’s your wand?” he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the dark water.

“Just for that, you can stay wet.” Malfoy pointed his own wand at his shirt, coat, and trousers and dried them off. “Come on, you imbecile. We have to get a move-on.”

“Wha--aren’t you going to help me get my wand, at least?” she stood, shivering.

Malfoy pulled his shirt on and coat, buttons be damned, and turned away from her. “Accio, Granger’s wand.” The offending stick flew out of the water and into his hand. He pocketed it in his back trousers pocket and replaced his coat.

“Hey!” She lunged forward and grabbed his arm to retrieve her wand, but he dodged out of the way. She stumbled towards the water once again. He grabbed her elbow in a vice and yanked her against him.

“Stay close to me. Be a good girl. You’ll get your wand back when you’ve earned it.” He breathed in her ear and the hair on her neck stood on end.

“I hate you,” she murmured. Her traitorous body vehemently disagreed with that statement, vibrating with heat. But her brain felt a need to reiterate it. “Hate,” she said over her shoulder.

Malfoy gave her a hard shove. Hermione flopped into the water. She flailed to keep her head above the surface and screamed in frustration. Hermione drug herself back to land, sputtering and swearing like anything. The Scrunchie of Betrayal was lost to the depths; her hair hung like a heavy curtain down her back. “You bastard!” she spat. She unzipped her coat and tore it off. The jumper she had worn underneath to mitigate a cold Welsh autumn chill felt like a straight jacket--no wonder she had sunk like a rock. She had to get it off. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the smug man, snickering at her in his warm, dry clothing. “Turn around, you arse!”

“Why? You didn’t give me the courtesy.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway into the next tunnel, which was long ago formed by water flowing downward in this chasm.

“Are you willing to take a chance on my wandless cursing skills? Because I seem to remember which one of us got an O on wandless magic, and it wasn’t a certain Slytherin ponce.”

He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, striding through the doorway. “I can’t believe I’m missing a charity dinner for this.”

“Should’ve left me to die,” Hermione mumbled. She peeled the jumper off her body and it fell in a squelching heap at her feet. Her tee shirt was no less worse for wear but at least it was only one thin layer to contend with. She only momentarily contemplated whether or not to bring the jumper along. Another unfortunate adventurer might discover it someday.

“Are you coming, witch?” He called from further down the tunnel.

“Damned bloody smug sexy stupid Malfoy!” She grumbled, tying her raincoat around her waist. “Coming!” Her call was sickly sweet and she could imagine the frustrated grimace on his dumb handsome face. When she caught up to him, he grunted at her over his shoulder like a caveman. She followed him sullenly.

“Color me shocked that you care if I make it out of here.”

“In spite of what you think of me, Granger, I do have a heart.” Malfoy’s coat flapped behind him as he led her down a winding path, through an endless and enclosed tunnel.

Hermione rubbed her arms; being damp punctuated the dropping temperature. The lower they descended into this cavern, towards a destination only Malfoy knew, the chillier it became. Especially when one wore only a damp tee and had a curtain of dripping hair. She didn’t even care what was at the end of this tunnel. Even when she had a piece of the scroll, the part she was missing was the end of the instructions… the object of the search itself was a mystery. All she had been able to discern was that it was some sort of druidic shrine. Likely from early Celts. Who cares? Another bloody shrine. But of course, her stomach turned with excitement at the thought of an undiscovered ancient shrine, not unlike how said traitorous organ had clenched upon the revelation that Draco Malfoy had the body of a god. Nevermind that she had a hard time breathing whenever she was in his presence on a normal day. Hermione put her hand over her stomach to chastise it. _Don’t you even dare,_ she threatened. Herself. She was threatening herself. Gods, she was a mess. When she someday told Ginny about all this, Ginny would shame her, like she deserved. “You stole a scroll of his desk and ran away to Wales?” Ginny would say. “Gods, you must be desperate for his attention--”

“Ugh. What madman designed these bloody tunnels?” Malfoy sighed. Hermione blinked out of her punishing daydream; they had stopped at a fork between tunnels. One went upwards, while the other continued downhill. Malfoy was consulting a small notebook, which she supposed was his annotated version of the scroll. His hair flopped over his forehead and he tried to brush it back. He tried out a good number of annoyed huffs and grunts, which she took to be personal and directed at her. She wasn’t wrong.

“So…” Malfoy didn’t acknowledge that she had spoken at all. She cleared her throat. He cast a glare back at her but said nothing. “Where are we headed… exactly?”

Malfoy let out a long and much-beleaguered sigh. “Have you earned the right to know?”

“Considering that you don’t know which way to go, the playing field is even, don’t you think?”

“But I have the directions, you foolish--”

She stopped walking and held up her hands in surrender. “Okay--enough with the name calling! I am an idiot, a moron, a crazy stupid mudblood bint who couldn’t have done anything more stupid than what I did. There--I’ve said it all for you.”

“...I haven’t used that word in a decade, Granger.” His Adam's apple lurched as he swallowed no small amount of anger at her for suggesting it.

“Fine,” she sighed, cheeks flushing. “Forget for a moment that I tore you away from your precious charity dinner, where no doubt there were several witches you haven’t shagged worth your consideration--”

“Rude!”

“--and pretend like I’m a skilled researcher in ancient runes and also happen to be good at handling ancient artifacts, especially when I have my wand. I could help. Where are we going?” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as he stopped walking and turned to her. He looked up at her finally. His grey eyes flashed with some unclear emotion.

Despite his better judgment, Malfoy held out his notebook. “Apparently there is a shrine to Arianrhod in this rock formation, where the ocean meets the base of the rock,” he parroted, based on what he remembered from his research. “The grand cavern itself is called Caer Arianrhod. It’s only accessible at low tide. Considering you flung yourself into a deep pool of water, I’m assuming there isn’t much further to go, but we may be in for another swim to get out.”

She took the notebook and glanced at his neat, swirling script. “And… who is Arianrhod?”

“Welsh goddess, keeper of the Silver Wheel of Stars. Air deity.”

Hermione frowned. “She’s an air and star goddess and her shrine is… underground.” The next few pages seemed to be notes on the goddess herself. She had had a secret son, a sea spirit, denied him a name, and hid him away from the world in shame. Arianrhod was tricked three times into giving him what she had thrice denied him--a name, arms, and love. Surely the story was more elaborate than that, but she wasn’t surprised that Malfoy’s personal notes lacked any romantic details. He was a man of action, not sentiment. Wasn’t he? 

“Apparently the shrine was built so she could be close to her son, who she denied as her own from his birth.” Malfoy put his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow. “The shrine is supposed to be her way of atoning for his banishment. He was a sea spirit, so… the goddess of stars went to the sea.”

“I suppose there’s some kind of logic there.” Hermione closed the notebook and handed it back.

“I don’t pretend to understand the logic of ancient Welsh druids. Well? Anything else?” He tapped his toe.

She studied his face. The longer she looked at him, the more uncomfortable he appeared to be with it. “Why did you come after me? Why not send Harry or Ron, or somebody who actually cares whether I live or die?”

Malfoy gave her a queer frown and she shivered again. His eyes darkened and he shrugged off his coat. He wrapped it around her shoulders. He smelled wonderful… like cedar and spices. The scent curled around her.

“I have a coat,” she said, but she clutched the wool to her chest in thanks.

He handed over her wand. “Here.” He turned away and worked on buttoning his shirt, which he seemed to have just realized he had neglected earlier. Hermione hadn’t forgotten. She had been doing her best not to fixate on the sliver of his bare chest peeking through a gap in the fabric. Still, he made no explanation.

“Were you hoping to… lord it over me?” she prodded. Malfoy shook his head once. “Do you like to watch me suffer? Hate me, like you know I’ve always hated you--”

“I’m going to stop you there,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Before you say anything else you can’t take back.”

“Am I wrong, Malfoy?” she laughed in exasperation. “I mean, you have spent our entire acquaintance trying to make me miserable! What do you care if I fling myself off a cliff and die, anyway? I’m nothing to you!”

Malfoy’s jaw set and his fingers curled into fists. “Do not presume to understand why I do anything--”

“But I’m right!” Hermione sighed. Gods, what was she even doing? Here she was, at his mercy, because she was such a thrill-seeking moron. He would never let her live this down… worse, she’d never be able to repay him. Angry tears pricked in her eyes. “Nevermind.” She tried to skirt around him and continue walking but Malfoy grabbed her wrist. “Wha--”

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, hush!” Lips descended on hers. A zap of energy shot through her chest. He held her to him with the lapels of the coat, backing her up against the stone wall. Her hands clutched his head to wrench his face away from hers, but her traitorous fingers only curled tighter into his hair. He worried her bottom lip, fighting for breaths between languid drags against her mouth. “If you die--” he nipped at her jaw, forcing himself not to smother her with his lips, “--I… I don’t know if I can convey to you how much I-I don’t hate you.” Hermione put her fingers to his mouth to still him. Her eyes betrayed her utter confusion at his admission. He… what? Her stomach leaped into her throat. This cold man, this infuriating and smug wizard… he… cared?

Malfoy grasped the hand that stopped his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I was angry--I am still angry--because it was damned selfish of you. To assume you could go it alone. You’re bright in many ways, but you’re not infallible.” Malfoy searched her face but found her reaction wanting. He released her, letting his hands fall to his sides. His face remained mere inches from hers. “I would have shown the scroll to you if you had asked. I wanted to. But most of the time, you won’t even make eye contact with me.” His chin quivered and he swallowed hard. “And now I know you hate me.”

A tremendous wash of guilt rained down on her. How could she have known? He didn’t come after her because he hated her and wanted her punished. He came after her because… she shook her head. Malfoy studied her face. His brow furrowed and he looked away.

“I am… so fired,” she breathed. Malfoy set his jaw again. He shook his head and indicated for them to continue walking, leaving Hermione standing there like he’d petrified her. “Wait!” When he didn’t stop, she pattered after him and put a small hand on his shoulder. “I always say the wrong thing. I said I hated you to rile you up--old habits, and all that. I don’t. Hate you. Malfoy, stop! Please.” Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

He stopped, but he kept his back to her and ran one hand through his hair in frustration. “You said it three times--”

“I know what I said!” She dropped her hand and sighed. “I’m… a mess. I’m not thinking straight.” Hermione rubbed her temples. “I wanted a… thrill, I guess. I’m so lonely. All my friends are paired off behind their white picket fences and they’re all content with their own boring little routines.” She sniffed. “I go home to my cat. And whenever Harry or Ron come by, they ask me why I don’t come to the Burrow for Sunday dinners anymore, or why I haven’t tried dating, or why I won’t go out for a promotion, and the truth is… I am tired of it. All of it. They don’t get it.” Hermione exhaled. She hadn’t said it out loud before, but it was true. “What I did was rash and stupid, I’m not denying it. Or justifying what I did…” Her thoughts petered off and she closed her eyes in shame. There was no way to explain herself. She had to own what she had done.

Malfoy glanced at her, his own cheeks pink. “You know… when I realized what you had done… I didn’t tell Potter or the Weasel.”

She frowned. “Really?”

“I know how hard they are on you. Merlin’s beard, Granger--they won’t give you an inch!” he smirked, despite his obvious distress. “I’ve been witness to it more than once in a budget meeting.”

Hermione blanched. “I’ve always had to be exceptional to them, nevermind that I’m anything but. Anything less than stellar work and I’m rewarded with endless ribbing. If they knew what I had done…”

“They’d give you no end of grief.”

“You won’t tell them?” Malfoy shook his head. She nodded in silent thanks. “Who knows where you are right now?”

He snorted. “Longbottom. My partner has to know where I am at all times, according to the agreement about my employment with the Ministry.” Draco Malfoy was a public defector and had long ago been acquitted of any war crimes. Still, the Ministry punished him. “And if I’m gone for longer than five days, he will come after me with two members of our team. Which is unlikely, given that you’re standing in front of me, but he wanted me to have backup. In case my solo mission to find Caer Arianrhod fails.”

“You didn’t even tell Neville about me?” She scratched her head. “He’s like a steel trap!”

“No. Nobody.”

Well. Hermione’s stomach fluttered once again and she put a hand to her forehead. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“...yeah.”

“I’m… sorry for kissing you. Without asking.”

“S’alright.”

He shook his head and sighed. “Okay, then.”

“Truce?” Hermione reached out her hand. Malfoy considered her for two measured breaths before he took it.

“Come on,” he said. He pulled her through the right fork in the passage, unspeaking. Malfoy was still tense, but now he was less angry than he was relieved. Perhaps relieved to have it out in the open, as it were.

And it made Hermione’s mind whirl. What had she told herself, earlier that day, even? _I can’t trust him._ Did you even give him a chance to be trustworthy? No. No, she didn’t. She assumed he wasn’t. Even though every time she saw him at work, her heart leapt into her throat.

His hand was warm in hers. Not sweaty, or overbearing--just warm. Nice. Like his lips had been. Like the smell of his coat. Like the way he didn’t sell her out for humiliation to her friends. How much time had she wasted pushing down her attraction to him, assuming Draco Malfoy was the spitting image of his father, when there was… warmth to him? A bit of selflessness. Kindness, even. She interlaced their fingers. Malfoy squeezed her hand.

She couldn’t be sure if it was a matter of minutes or hours, but the passage opened again. The ceiling rose as as the floor descended, until the rock hung above in stalactite crystals. The walkway became a staircase, which kissed the incoming rolling ocean water and disappeared beneath. The sun streamed in through a solitary crevice in the rock wall, but it was making its way towards the horizon. Golden light bathed the cavern.

“Tide’s low right now; we should be able to make it through that crack to the beach before the sun sets.” Malfoy pointed towards the low walkway where waves from the ocean lapped into the cavern and back out again.

“Is this all?” Hermione asked. She had to shade her eyes to take in the whole of the cave. “Where’s the shrine?”

“Maybe it’s been lost to the sea after all this time.” Malfoy released her hand and pulled his notebook out again, running a finger down a page. “This doesn’t say what the shrine is supposed to look like. I'm satisfied, anyhow. We’d better be going if we want to get back to London by nightfall.”

“You mean to tell me, you’re going to come all this way to a cavern you’ve been researching, only to… leave before you investigate at all?” Hermione tugged on his arm. “I refuse to ruin this for you,” she insisted. “Let me see the notebook.”

Malfoy opened the last page so she could read it. The page was covered in runes and drawings. Hermione gasped. “Look!” She took it from him and held it out before them. The crack in the cavern wall lined up with the lines on the page. The pictorial seemed to show the sun streaming into the cave. “The runes here are a kind of poem. I can make it out.”

_When the god star kisses the sea,_

_there will I be, you with yours and mine with me,_

_beneath we will dwell,_

_as above we fell,_

_side by side asleep as well._

_Together in death_

_Apart in breath_

_Until the god star sinks into the depth._

“The god star,” Malfoy repeated. “The sun.”

“Yes…” Hermione tapped her chin. “When the god star kisses the sea… the sunset, I’d wager. If the poem is to be believed, it may require another dip in the water. If you’re amenable.” Hermione wriggled out of Malfoy’s coat and draped it over a rock well out of the way of the rising tide.

“The sunset is due anytime,” Malfoy said, cheeks tinged in pink. “We’ll be trapped in here until the tide rolls out in the morning.”

She turned to him and leveled her gaze with his. “Is it a problem to be trapped with me?” Her tone belied a playful challenge. She untied her own jacket from around her waist and toed out of her sneakers. Malfoy’s eyes grew large and he cleared his throat.

“No, no I don’t think it is.” He turned his back to her and observed the way the golden light hummed over the water. Hermione watched the back of his head as she shucked out of her trousers. All of a sudden, he was going to be shy? It was… cute. She liked this side of him almost as much as the aggressive, caring, touchy one.

As the sun fell halfway behind the horizon, the water at the base of the steps was illuminated. There was something down there--two carved figures lay side-by-side protecting two watery casks. One female, with long flowing hair. Another male, a small child. “Malfoy, oh my gosh!” Hermione pointed into the water, wading in to her knees.

“Wait! We don’t know that it’s safe.” He grabbed her elbow.

“It’s just a monument. Besides, you’ve already pulled me out of the water once today,” she said, covering his hand with her own. “So, I imagine I’m quite safe if you’re with me.”

Malfoy’s eyes softened, as did the vice grip on her arm. His gaze flicked to her lips. Hermione could see the wheels in his head turning. She curled her free hand in the front of his shirt. “Take this off. Follow me down there.” She ghosted her lips against his. “Don’t forget your bubble-head charm!” Hermione cast her own bubble and it enveloped her head, leaving Malfoy standing here stunned, like he’d been smacked. She dove beneath the water.

The shrine was indeed a monument, but it was still magnificent. The stone casks were protected with magical fields, so the stone remained in pristine condition, as if they had recently been submerged. The way the light from the setting sun filtered through the water made the marble shine. Every fold of fabric, every lock of hair, every star embroidered in her skirts… all were carved with loving precision. At the feet of the female figure, a plaque bore the name of the Lady of the Silver Wheel herself:

_The Great Mother_

_Arianrhod_

At the feet of the male, three names:

_Tynged_

_Dylan ail Don_

_Lleu Llaw Gyffes_

Between the two great burial casks, a plaque bore the poem from the scroll in the same runes as before, scratched into the marble long before the scroll itself had been written. Hermione traced her finger over the plaque and a spark shot through her. As Malfoy swam beside her, she took his hand and placed it beside hers on the plaque. The energy vibrated again, but this time the water around them was singing with it. He gaped at her in shock. Hermione interlaced their fingers and closed her eyes. She put her free hand on the shoulder of Arianrhod. She opened one eye and saw Malfoy had done the same, placing his hand on the arm of the taboo child.

 _I hope that, like Arianrhod, I can atone for what I’ve done,_ she thought. _I hope that, like the son of parents who made mistakes, Draco can forgive me._ As if on cue, he squeezed their joined hands. When she opened her eyes, Hermione realized the light was retreating from the water. She pushed off the rocky floor and swam for the surface, with Malfoy not far behind. As soon as her head breached the surface, her bubble charm burst. Hermione sat on the steps with her toes in the water to catch her breath. Malfoy emerged from the rising waters and shook his head.

“It’s humble, but it’s beautiful.” He sat beside her. Hermione scooted over until their shoulders were touching. He peered at her out of the corner of his eye and gave her a sideways smile. “You’re daft,” he said. But this time, it sounded more affectionate.

Hermione leaned into his side. “I’ve never hated you.” She rested her chin on his shoulder. Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed. “We’ve always been matched for wits, so it was only natural that we were competitive. Snape’s ribbing didn’t help.” Malfoy snorted in agreement. “You were foolish, a blind follower, a bully, and a jerk… but I’ve never been able to muster hatred for you.” She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and watched the way the hairs on his arm raised as her breath kissed them.

Malfoy leaned his head against hers. “Not even when you punched me?”

“You were being horrid.”

His chuckle jostled her head. “Not even when my aunt…” he couldn’t finish it, but she knew what he meant. She wound her arm with his.

“No,” she said. And that was the truth. She had hated Dolores Umbridge, for taking delight in torturing children and doing things crueler than even Voldemort did. She had hated Bellatrix Lestrange, for her lack of conscience and utter devotion to the destruction of Muggles and Muggle-borns. She had hated people who were made of pure hatred. But Draco Malfoy was not one of them.

He turned his lips against her forehead. “I have felt, since that day at the Manor… a compulsion to protect you.”

“Is that why you came after me? Duty?” Her heart clenched.

“Is it wrong of me to say so?” he asked. “I can’t help it. I want you to be safe. Once upon a time, I couldn’t help you.”

“Is that the only reason you came?”

Malfoy sat back from her a bit and laced their fingers together. “Can you tell me why you are so comfortable being near to me?” He tucked an errant lock of wet hair behind her ear.

“I mean…” she looked back at the darkening waters, where the figures of two ancient gods lay in marble repose. The plaque was barely visible. “You felt that, right?” He nodded. “There is something unsettling about you.”

“Thank you?” He let out a confused laugh.

“No! Not like that. I mean…” She rubbed her face in frustration with words that wouldn’t form right. “I can’t bear being around you in the Ministry because that--” she pointed back to the water, “--is what I feel every time I see you.”

“I know the feeling.” He cupped her face in his hands, brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs.

“It’s strangely easy to mistake it for loathing.” Hermione grasped his wrists for purchase. She shivered. "But it's easier knowing you feel it too." The water was licking their ankles.

“I think we’re liable to get pulled under soon. Let’s get to higher ground,” he said. Hermione agreed.

Malfoy stood first, gathering both of their wands in one hand and reaching for her with the other. Gods, he was beautiful. In the dying light of day, he was soft and strong. Hermione took his hand and let him lead her back up the steps where they gathered their discarded clothing, and moved to the upper landing of the staircase for the night. He built them a fire, while Hermione dried their clothes off. She held her wand to her hair but Malfoy stopped her.

“Let me?” he urged. Hermione sat at his feet at his urging; Malfoy knelt behind her and ran his fingers through her long, tangling curls. As his skin passed over her locks, they dried in soft contained spirals. He pulled the mane off her shoulder. His lips pressed below her ear. “There.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and nosed her jaw. As he did so, her bra and panties were also rendered dry and warm. Hermione hugged his arms against herself and sighed.

“Hermione… I am afraid to tell you how much I…” He stopped and kissed her temple. “This is overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Hermione pulled out of his arms and turned so she could see him. His face bore a pleading grimace. “Very much so. What if this is just... the heat of the moment,” she said. “What if things are different in the light of day?”

“I am not changeable like that. I promise.”

“You’ll get to know me and you’ll see, Draco. I’m just--”

“Stop.” He grabbed her cheeks once more. “Stop talking about yourself like you’re not a wonderful woman with so much to offer a poor helpless fool.”

“You don’t know me very well. How can you be so sure you want to?”

“If you had been paying attention, Miss Granger--” he tilted her chin to look at him. “You would know how hard I have been trying to do just that. Potter caught me staring at you in a meeting last week. I spent twenty minutes trying to explain to him why I always send you my department reports, even when they don’t involve curses and hexes.”

“I had wondered why I always got those… I assumed you were prolific. I am an idiot.” She pressed her eyes together in embarrassment.

“Yes, but I’m not put off by it.” Hermione wrinkled her nose, but Malfoy laughed. “Let’s get to sleep. In the morning, I will get you home, and I will prove to you this is something I have wanted for a long time.”

Malfoy retrieved her clothing from the pile of dry garments. He knelt at her feet and opened each trouser leg for Hermione to step into. As soon as her ankles cleared the leg holes, Malfoy dragged the fabric up her legs, trailing over gooseflesh. She held onto his bare shoulder as the trousers cleared her hips, wiggling so he could pull them around the curve of her hips and arse. Then, he buttoned them below her belly button and closed the zipper. His lips pressed to the skin above her waistband. Well… if she had doubted he had anything but reverence for her… Her insides fluttered but she tried to ignore it. Malfoy held out her tee so she could slip her head through the hole; once her arms cleared, he ghosted the hem down her waist, but left his own hands sitting on her hips, against her skin. Who knew putting clothing on could get her so… bothered? She was trying not to fixate on the fact that he was naked except for his pants, and still quite damp.

“Thank you,” she peeped. Of its own volition, her hand floated up and touched his bearded chin.

“Do you mind the scruff?” he asked. She shook her head. “Good. I… grew it after I overheard the Weaslette teasing you about liking a man with a beard.”

“You’re in deep,” she said, smiling. “It’s good on you.”

“Is it?” He blushed. Hermione took an inordinate amount of pleasure in seeing him flush at a compliment. She vowed to make it happen as often as possible.

“Mmm. Handsome.” Hermione’s hand continued to drift upwards to his damp hair, which she had never before seen outside of the confines of rigorous hair gel. “How do you do that wandless drying spell?”

He smiled. “Run your fingers through it and concentrate on siccare capillos.” She did just that and Malfoy’s hair settled in soft, dry golden waves.

“Do you use that on all the women?” she teased. Malfoy’s thumbs traced the curve of her bare back and she hummed.

“No,” he said. “There has not been a woman in my life for some time.”

“Honestly?”

“Cross my heart.” He smiled and Hermione was satisfied with his answer. She allowed herself only the most respectful of touches, placing her hands on his chest.

“Shall I help you dress?” Her voice betrayed her in the squeakiest whisper.

“I’m afraid if you do that, I’ll have an even harder time maintaining my composure.”

“You seem quite composed.”

“You have no idea how difficult it is to remain so while I’m touching your bare skin.” His eyes flashed in that dangerous lovely way she recognized as his internal struggle between pulling her close and turning away. She made the choice for him and drew her hands back, stepping away from him. She smiled in reassurance. Malfoy shook his head in resigned laughter and dressed himself under Hermione’s respectful (albeit quite delighted) gaze.

When he was safely clothed again, Malfoy laid out his coat on the ground against the wall and murmured a cushioning charm so it would be comfortable enough to sleep on. He sat with his legs stretched out towards the flickering fire. Hermione considered him across the flames.

“You were cross with me, when you found me,” she said.

The heat from the fire distorted his eye roll but he threw up his hands. He crossed his arms, but he was smiling. “We already agreed my anger was justified.”

“You’re not very creative with your nicknames.”

“If I didn’t care about you, I would’ve had much more biting remarks.”

“You did call me stupid and an imbecile.”

“I didn’t mean it.” He beckoned her over and patted the coat beside him. Hermione settled in against his side and Malfoy wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll go at first light. The tide should be low by then.”

Hermione fixed him with a wry smile. “We don’t have to stay here,” she laughed. “Why don’t we apparate home? We could be at home in our beds in a manner of moments.”

“And cheat me of a chance to see you wet again?” he teased, but he scratched his head as if it had never occurred to him they could return home by magical means. Hermione blinked at him.

“Oh, I dunno. There’s a fair chance of you seeing me wet once we get home.”

Malfoy’s eyes darkened for the third time that day and he pounced on her. “You minx,” he said, peppering her neck with languid kisses. “I am a famished man and you are a feast… but you deserve to be properly courted and wooed. And worshipped. And adored… And as much as I want to do all of those things to you right now, and later, and forever… I am well and truly exhausted.”

“That’s bullshit--oh! don’t stop that,” she panted. He pressed his forehead to hers and the energy zapped through them once more.

“Trust me, you daft, beautiful witch.” Malfoy kissed her. Hermione acquiesced with a laugh, hugging him to her and nestling him between her legs. He laid his head on her chest. “Besides, is it not romantic to sleep in this drafty cave with a man who rescued you?”

Hermione stroked his hair. Gods… yes. It was romantic. The weight of his head settled on her sternum; it raised and lowered with each breath she took. Fancy what can happen when one makes a moronic mistake… not that she couldn’t clean up her own mistakes, but Hermione took a great deal of comfort that this particular mistake wouldn’t ruin her because Draco Malfoy cared enough to protect her reputation, and to save her from herself. She wasn’t a risk taker, historically. How many chances had she missed with him? How many times had he tried to talk to her, even just to say hello, and she had ruined it by supposing he hated her?

It wouldn’t do to waste energy on regret, but laying there in a drafty cavern, listening to the duelling swells of the waves versus Draco’s soft breaths… she felt a small tinge of sadness in herself. She could have filled all of her evenings with this. On the other hand… she was proud of herself. For leaping when she saw the opportunity. Never again would she ruin an ancient artifact, but this wouldn’t be the last time she let her impulses rule. Not if it was likely to end like this. Everything came back to this, to him.

When the sun rose in the morning, she would tell him as much. After they got wet.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for the March 2020 Draco's Den Roll-a-Drabble  
> Theme: Fantastical Locations  
> Adjective: Underground  
> Item: Shrine  
> Location: In the Air
> 
> So, obviously this is more than drabble length... but it just begged for more! :)


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